


Sub!Tim au

by wintersnight



Category: Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Dick is really trying to help, Dom!Dick Grayson, Dom!Jason Todd, Get your feels ready, M/M, Mentions of previous abusive dom, Sub!Bruce Wayne, Sub!Tim au, Tim is in a terrible place, warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: “I...I get to choose? If I say no, then you’ll...you’ll really stop?”When that expression changes, becomes solemn, his spine relaxes enough to sink right into Dick’s calf, his free hand wrapping around the Dom’s ankle.“My word, Tim. The second you safeword, everything will stop immediately.”He swallows a little as the scritching moves lower to the base of his neck, what he wants spilling right the fuck out before he can get his thoughts solid enough to hold it back:“Dick… S-Sir, can you…can you zip tie me again?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, my babe Titans_R_Us puts these ideas in my head and then has to listen to my pathetic whining when I get stuck lol. Kind of like with the aob, this world is a little different, so some world-building might be here. Still, it IS an interesting idea.

Superboy catches the sight out of the corner of his eye during the fight, and luckily, BB has plenty of experience with The Brotherhood of DaDa to take over leading the Titans in the fight since Red Robin pretty much passed the hell out right in the middle of the skirmish.

“Holy _shit!_ KF, check yer six!” While dodging the usual attacks.

Kid Flash let loose a _beautiful_ stream of obscenities right as he’s running the fuck up the side of the Palace Hotel to catch their falling bird, and the whole team breathes out in relief.

“Drop him in the Med-Center and get back here, dude!” Beast Boy takes front, calling on Superboy to take on the Fog (dude has _righteous_ cold breath, seriously), Wonder Girl is having a little _tango_ with The Quiz, Raven is still searching for where the hell Sleepwalk’s body is, and Frenzy is just _perf_ for KF when he hits them back.

“On it!”

And _yes_ , he’s _fast_.

Red Robin is hooked up to every damn machine in the Med-Bay, the whiteouts raised so KF can check out his pupils in case he took yet _another_ headshot ( _they all need to have a talk about Tim riding the concussion train enough to actually name them. Totes disturbing)_ , while monitoring the fight through the open comm, wincing when he hears BB get swept up in a massive tornado and smack hard enough to get a grunt of pain.

“KF... _hurry_.”

“Fuck!” The speedster takes a glance at the pages pumping out of the terminal, eyes scanning–

_Oh…_

The speedster’s mind is blown while the system starts chiming in with ringing alarms, showing Red Robin’s stats dropping steadily. At the same time, his team is getting their asses handed to them.

Decisions, decisions.

He does the only thing he can think of. You know, _that_ kind of last resort. (But they’re all trying to be _better_ now, so this could be a good thing. Right?)

Taps his comm to the right frequency and gets–

“This is Batman. Go ahead Titan’s Tower.”

 _Double fuck_. “I have an emergency,” he hurries, “we need back-up in San Fran. Those DaDa assholes are wrecking the city and we’re down people.”

The Dark Knight makes some tapping noises, “The Justice League is mobilizing. Tell Red Robin–”

“Red-” and Kid Flash sucks in a deep breath, “Red Robin is in blackout. Direct them to follow Beast Boy, he’s fought them with the Doom Patrol before.”

“Understood,” and a pause, “where _exactly_ is Red Robin now?”

Eyes darting back down to the readings again while he moves around the infirmary at superspeed, feeding the result into an analysis, taking the composition and creating it in the lab next door faster than the eye can see.

“He’s in the Tower. No worries, Batman, we’ve got him.” Kid Flash, sweating under the mask, injects the countering chemicals into Red’s bicep and _hopes_.

(They didn’t have orientations in the 26th century where he was from, had long since evolved away from Subs and Doms. Meeting so _many_ of them, seeing how crucial their orientation is in their current culture was so much of a shock to his system, but he’d always thought his bestie was a Dom, had always just _assumed_ – but with these read-outs? Don’t have to be a detective to tell what’s _up_.)

“Superman, Martian Manhunter, Nightwing, and I are teleporting on-site now, stay with Red Robin, Kid Flash.”

While his heart pounds and he waits, watches Red’s vitals, bounces his foot fast enough to spin small tornadoes around the floor, he literally has to do _something_ , and turns on the fight, accessing security cams that didn’t get totally bombed in the first round of _this is our city now!_

He keeps a hand on Red’s bare wrist while watching Superman have Superboy’s fucking _back_ , fights shoulder-to-shoulder, watches Martian Manhunter take The Quiz right _out_ when Wonder Girl punches her hard enough to knock the baddie right into him.

He just transforms into dirt and that fight is _over_.

The images finally disappear so Rave must have totally taken care of The Sleepwalker, and KF breathes out a sigh of utter fucking _relief_.

(It’s been...odd, but nice of the JL to be completely attentive in the last few months, trying to be on better terms with them after the Identity Crisis fucked pretty much _everyone_ , and it was a hard few years after that. But seeing Diana hug Cassie tightly, Clark smile down at Kon with pride in his eyes, and J’onn slide BB’s arm over his shoulder to help him walk it the fuck off. All of it makes him hope the future might have changed for the _better_. That someday, he’d go back to a time like this one – with real heroes.)

While Batman is checking Cassie’s mostly broken hand, KF realizes someone is most definitely _missing_.

“Oh my God,” is almost silent, something he could have totally _missed_.

And no superspeed on the planet could save this situation when Kid Flash spins on his heel–

–to see the vent cover gone and Nightwing staring down at the page of results.

**

The aching, straining _pain_ , something beyond physical, something beyond blood and muscle and bone is absolutely not conducive to _Good morning, Red_.

His fists have to clench when he first comes to, has to fight his body, has to fight because the chemical balancers he’s been taking for fuck knows _how long_ have been failing, and even if it’s so fucking _hard_ and painful, he has to fight past it all so he doesn’t–

 _Drop_.

The very thought makes a shudder run up his spine, makes his brain _work_ , tries to fight past all the things the Sub in him needs, _craves_.

( _It’s all just chemicals. It’s all just stupid biology and chemicals. You took a sword to the spleen and didn’t die. You can control this, just for a little while longer. You can get to the Perch after you make sure the Titans are okay and the fight is over. You can do this. You **have** to do this._

...And he still wants to slide to his knees, to have his wrists bound behind him, he wants to serve his Dom, wants to be what is needed, wants to be told he’s a good boy, _such_ a good Sub. But what he wants and what he’s been _told_ a Sub should be–

Are two very different things.)

Red Robin clenches his jaw, takes a final breath through his nose, and opens his eyes

(no suit, no gauntlets, no utility belt) to see Bart and Kon hovering over him, looking like absolute _ass_.

“OhmyGodT–Man,Itotallypanickedandshitissofucking _real_ rightnow. Notmodenotmodeat _all_ ,” because Bart forgets not everyone has super-fast _hearing_.

Seriously dude. Give him a break here.

“Panic? Not good then,” and he can hear himself slurring, still feels the ache, the pain, the tingles racing down his spine, almost gets sick when he pushes himself up to his elbows because the world is pinwheeling, something dark, something so _wrong_ hovering at the edges of his consciousness.

Kon is there in a heartbeat, forcing him back down, watching Tim’s eyes roll back for a scary second.

“Don’t even think about moving, man. Just _don’t_. Your stats still haven’t levelled out.”

Welp, very _not good_ then.

“Did I take a hit? Get choked out?” Is quick, a little more himself, gives him something else to focus on, “wait, did we hand it to those DaDa fucks?”

When his besties exchange a very pointed _look_ , his hands go under the sheet, patting his body, looking for gauze or bandages–

“T-Man… Okay, look, we got the DaDas because we called in to the JL for some back-up,” Kon starts seriously, “but T… T, you came dangerously close to dropping. Like, you _passed out_.”

And there it is–

–the _secret_.

“Fuck,” tumbles out because he numbs out almost immediately, eyes going wide at his teammates. His body gets _tense_ , ready to get up and fight, ready to argue that _yes, you fuckers, a Sub can be a goddamned vigilante_.

Kon does a long, slow _blink_ while Bart’s head tilts slightly like a puppy, but when Tim’s muscles tighten, when his eyes get hard and narrow, when he’s looking at them like he’s making a fucking _plan_ , it’s so reminiscent of the Rob he used to be, back before they all trusted one another, back when he was just a scary kind of normal dude none of them wanted to push too far.

To see that again makes Kon’s chest _ache_ and Bart reach a hand out automatically.

“ _Dude_ , you are such a _tool_ ,” Bart grips a wrist, the speedster shoving his face right in Tim’s. “Like you think we have a _fuck_ to give about your orientation? What are you even _thinking_ , T?”

“I’m hurt,” Kon replies seriously, “I thought we were, I don’t know, past shit like this by now?”

It doesn’t take any more than that for Tim’s vigilante sense to ease down enough that he realizes they’re right. He’d jumped the gun _dammit_.

“I’m sorry,” Tim flops back down to the gurney, eyes downcast ( _“Don’t look directly at your Dom. You don’t get that right until it’s given_.”), “you guys are my best friends. I know I can trust you. I– _fuck_ , I’m sorry.”

Bart ruffles his hair good-naturedly, grinning down even with the _oh shit_ still hovering. “It’s a secret you’ve obviously kept a long time, so we get it. Still kind of sucks you didn’t feel like you could tell us, but hey, I’ve got my secrets, dude. We all do.”

Tim sighs under the hand in his hair, very, _very_ carefully diverting his mind away from it so his body doesn’t start wanting ( _a Dom_ ) something he can’t afford to give it yet.

(But if Kon, a Null, or Bart, without an orientation, take a step back, tell him, “Tim. _Kneel_ ,” he’d jump out of that bed like a shot and drop to his knees like a good boy, like a good Sub, like he should– _fuck, this is not how I wanted a scene to go_.)

“Still think you’re kinda creepy, but at this juncture, I’m really use to it,” Kon laughs about it, but his eyes slide toward the open door, shoulders suddenly tense.

“We all have a _thing_ ,” Tim manages, trying to cover up the conflict, “I didn’t diss that shitty mohawk, dude. Totally accepted you as you were.”

Kon gasps, holds a hand to his chest, “Blasphemy! That ‘hawk was so _stylin’_ you nerd.”

“Sure it was. Keep telling yourself that.”

“This is not going to end well,” Bart wearily shakes his head, “ _but_ it is not the most pressing topic that isn’t going to go well, Tim.”

_Shit. What now?_

“Okay, lay it on me, KF.”

The eyeslide to Kon isn’t missed.

“Bullshit,” Tim waves a hand to get their attention back, “don’t do _the look_. Tell me what’s up and we’ll get a jump on un-fucking whatever it is.”

Since Kon is a _rip-the-band-aid-off_ kind of guy, he lays it out, “ran your vitals when you passed out, and...Nightwing accidentally was the guy that happened to find them when the JL came to help. I mean...like, he _knows_ , right? And maybe Batman does too–?”

But the answer is in the form of Tim falling right into Bat-stillness, eyes wide and fucking _horrified_. “No. Fuck, no. Dick–”

“Knows,” Kon fills in, “they left with the JLA, but...Batman– Batman said he wants to _talk_ , Tim.”

He has an immediate _nope, not happening_. There must be some terrible criminal out in the Mediterranean in need of thwarting.

Yup. Time to make a plan.

“He said he’s coming back once they secure the Dadas,” Bart takes a step closer, “I mean, dude. You had a seriously bad drop, one that could have probably killed you, so I get where he’s at, you know?”

His mental clock picks up as _Bat Showdown_ , and that timer starts…

Now.

Pull the IVs, disconnect the sensors, listen with half an ear at the two meta immediately trying to talk him out of taking the fuck off.

“C’mon T, you can’t even _think_ –”

“You’re fucking _compromised_ , dude. You’re not getting far like this!”

The machines go flatline, but he reaches around Kon to flip them off in succession. It doesn’t stop Kon from hearing how fast his heartbeat is picking up or make Bart _unsee_ how shaky he is.

“I’m _sorry_ , but you guys don’t have an orientation, you don’t know if they would have even _let me_ –” _be Robin_ “in the first place. I can’t take that chance they’re going to try and bench me because–”

Getting to his feet is a lesson in vertigo, blood rushing to his head, and his knees wobbly with the effort to hold him–

( _I should be punished. For all the times I’ve failed, for not being the leader the Titans need, for not giving B the full disclosure before I wore the R..._ )

Kon has hold of his arm, blue eyes blown wide, “T, c’mon _T_ , seriously. Your stats are still low as fuck. You are _going_ to drop again if you don’t get Dommed like _toute suite_.”

Bart is up on his other side, grips his other arm to keep him from a horribly embarrassing face plant, “they’ve been trying really hard to get you back, right? This might not be a deal breaker, Tim. You might just be overthinking it all. Dammit, dude, they’ve been up your ass for the last few months.”

He fervently hopes his expression is enough to convey how much he is seriously _not buying it, man, sorry_.

“I need to get the hell out of here before they get back,” Tim’s muscles tighten under their hands, his eyes dark enough, serious enough. “B has pull with the JLA. If anyone could take my cape, it would be the biggest group of superheroes in the world.”

Kon goes absolutely _still_ , staring at him while Bart goes pale.

“But B...The League...they wouldn’t _do_ that, right? I mean, you were fucking _Robin_.”

“Some people have...a pretty set idea about where Subs belong, and I can guarantee you it isn’t in _this_ kind of industry,” and he sweeps a hand over the three of them. “I’m more worried about the Justice League to be honest, but still… This is a conversation I should be having over a comm line.”

“You think they’d try to make you submit?” Bart sounds quietly horrified, “like use the Dom voice against you? Isn’t that illegal or some shit?”

“I-I,” he has to brace against Kon’s grip, shifts from foot-to-foot to automatically balance himself, “ _fuck_ , just _fuck_ , okay look, so… no one knows. Like, no one no one. There was once... _twice_ , I mean I went into subspace only the one time, and I–” a hard sigh through his nose, tamping down on the immediate _revolution,_ but he still manages to nudge them toward the door, “I’ve always been on chemical balancers and a type of blocker against Doms being able to read me.”

Bart, the one that keeps him from getting too serious about life, is looking almost _broken_ for him, and Tim has to look away from that expression. Kon’s eyes are narrow, his mouth a grim line.

“So... _so_ , if Nightwing or Batman brought out the voice and told me to be a good bitch right now, I’d probably do it. I mean, who fucking _knows_ what I might agree to in Subspace, but I’m sure as _fuck_ not willing to find out like this.”

“Don’t get me wrong, T,” Bart starts low and urgent, “I know there’s some shady shit out there between Doms and Subs, like even if I don’t have an orientation, I’m not stupid to this time’s culture, but the Bats aren’t like that, they _wouldn’t_ –”

“I’ve never seen any of them with a Sub,” Tim cuts him off, “and I’m pretty sure there’s a reason for that.”

He lets that one sink in, watching as his two besties exchange a worried look, and tries hedging toward the door again, pretty sure they _get it_ now.

( _You don’t want to see me kept collared and forced into Subspace. You don’t want to see the punishments that I deserve it because of my failures, and all the losses and fuck-ups that came with it. They’ll punish me for the biggest lie of all._ )

And he sees it in his brain pan: his wrists bound over his head, naked and writhing, while the cane, the lash, the whip, the belt, comes down over and over again. While his back and thighs welt up, his skin breaks under the next strike, when it’s Every. Fucking. Stupid, Thing he’s done as Robin, as Red Robin, is read out like an epitaph, while he’s sobbing and begging and pleading, while Dick tells him he’s a **_Bad_** _. **Sub**._ and he needs this, needs to be shown his place, needs to know he never, _never_ should have tried to be something he’s–

( _not_ )

Tim Drake shuts his eyes tightly against it, what his brain is sluggishly telling him he _deserves_. He can keep fighting it long enough to get away, to get out of the Tower under some stealth, but the Sub fighting with his intellect, the instinct just below his _skin_ still fights to break free, to give the fuck _in_.

Fear _panic_ fear _panic_ plan _fear_ panic _plan_.

But all of it isn’t for shit because the voice behind them is mildly interested, “you could have _asked_ , Tim. Then we would have told you why.”

Even with super speed and enhanced senses, Kon and Bart had no clue the Dark Knight was even in the room, nonetheless looking over the results of Tim’s scans _right_ _behind them_. The whiteouts slowly move up to zero in on the three younger heroes, and even without his eyes visible, Kon and Bart visibly shudder, automatically tighten down on Tim’s arms.

Swallowing hard, a muscle in his jaw jumping, he tries to straighten up, to be ( _Robin_ ) the leader of the Titans when a member of the JL is up in their house.

(But his tongue is thick in his mouth, coppery fear mixing with the drop that is looming ever so close, just makes him want to fall, tip his head back, and wait to give in, give _up_ , to hand over _control_. That terrible part of him that _craved_ to do what he was told, to please his Dom, enough to help him be _good_. He’s so _hungry_ to be touched, directed, to fucking _kneel_ –

–but none of that is going to happen until he pays the _price_ for his transgressions...)

“B, stop scaring the children,” Tim deadpans, even if he feels the prickle of sweat on the back of his neck, even if his stomach rolls and clenches at the same time. “Glad you and the League could come give us some back-up. Thanks for the assist.”

With a flutter of cape and soundless steps, B crosses the distance in a few strides, makes it so _easy_. And like Tim had never lost the R, like he was still _wearing_ it (“You’re one of my _sons_. That’s what you agreed to when you took on the mask.” _But do you still mean it, Bruce? Especially now that you **know**?)_, B lifts a heavy hand and palms his shoulder, a move reminiscent of when _they_ were still the Dynamic Duo that he’s struck a little speechless, only registers Bart’s hand tightening down and Kon swallowing faintly.

“You didn’t need us, not really. Still, I’m glad we came to help since you and I need to _talk_ about how worried I am once I saw your levels. _Extremely_ worried, Tim.”

“I’m sorry, _what now_ –?” Because _worried_ is not exactly what he had been expecting ( _“You obviously can’t continue this lifestyle, Tim, not if you’re a Submissive. I have no idea how you got away with it_ this _long,” is really where he thought_ this _little convo was going to go_.)

But B’s whiteouts swing to Kon and Bart clinging to him rather than holding him up, subtly trying to nudge in front of him –to _protect_ him– from whatever might happen now that the secret is _out_.

Still, even everything’s out in the open and all those years hiding is just suddenly fucking _moot_ , even if he’s a fucking Sub, even if he’s supposedly _weak_ , he’s still going to keep _fighting_. He’s going to be Red ( _Robin_ ), and _fuck_ orientation.

With that in mind, putting in the effort it takes to make his legs hold, to make his arms firm enough to push his teammates to the side, refusing to be ashamed, refusing to _hide_.

“–your levels are _dangerous_ , Tim. Just from the results of your scans, I can tell it’s been _way_ too long since you’ve had a safe drop.”

Something rolls up his spine, a combination of anger spiced with a thrill of fear. “I still lead my fucking _team_ , B. I’m still a kick-ass vigilante, and I still do the _job_. This? This doesn’t change a damn thing.” His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping, “so I’m _not_ giving up the cape, and I’m sure as hell _not_ giving up another name just because I’m a Sub. _That doesn’t_ _fucking_ _define_ _me_.”

The Batman goes completely _still_.

“I’m not leaving the Titans, no matter what you or the JLA has to say about it.”

Kon’s hand is fisted right against the small of his back, a whole lot of strength there to reinforce the whole _nope_ mentality. Bart folds his arms over his chest and straightens his spine, pointedly nudging their shoulders together in solidarity.

 _Dammit. **These** guys. Seriously, I can hold my own against Batman_.

( _Not if he tells you to kneel, dumbass. Then we’ll see how bad ass you are, won’t we?_ )

Well, there is that, isn’t there? Fuck.

But just when shit started to seem pretty grim, B does yet something else to surprise him. The Dark Knight folds his arms over his massive chest and shakes his head, a long breath literally lifting his shoulders.

“ _Tim_. Not even in our worst moments have I ever though you weren’t capable of amazing things. Finding out you’re a Sub doesn’t change that. _Am I making myself clear_?”  The tone, the very familiar _do you understand me, Robin?_ is right there for him, making a shiver run up his spine.

And B? Is already _on_ the train Red Robin is riding, sees how close his partner is to a dangerous drop, sees how Tim’s immediate reaction is to _run, hide, deflect_. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, how his own secrets had lead them right _here_. So, of course, the World’s Greatest Detective has a plan.

The whiteouts swing from Kon to Bart and back to him, taking in _everything_ , and B takes that precious step closer, acts like he’s approaching someone _dangerous_ (or someone ready to run, someone B didn’t want to get even a _step_ further away), “I need to talk to my partner. Alone. Give us the room for a few minutes.” It’s with a slight _pull_ that B is tugging him out of their hold, directing him back to the medical gurney.

“Bats…” and the warning in Kon’s voice, the low _edge_ , is all right there to read. Sure he knows about the pouch of Kryptonite, _sure_ he knows this is the _motherfucking Batman_ and shit could possibly get very, _very_ real. But the tremor in Tim’s hands, the way his head turns just _slightly_ to place the escape routes in the room tells Kon pretty much all he needs to know.

The shift of the cowl and those whiteouts are _focused_ , “nothing to worry about, Superboy. I’ll give your Leader a low-down on how the fight turned out. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Which is in no way a question or suggestion.

It doesn’t escape him that both Metas wait for the imperceptible nod from Red before they’re backing out of the room. In so many ways, he’s annoyed and satisfied his son has a good team (just like when Dick started the Titans, all the insanity of dealing with _teenagers_ to make sure his Robin didn’t get too far, too deep, into the gray area).

But since he’s _Batman_ , he makes maneuvering Tim back on the gurney an unconscious, easy thing while the triad has their own silent conversations as Superboy and Kid Flash back-up toward the door.

And B lets them do their silent conversation thing because he’s already got a glove and gauntlet off, setting up a saline bag to try leveling out some of Tim’s vitals (even though B _knows_ exactly what his Sub son needs, has Dick right outside the door, ansty and obviously on _edge_ ). He pushes the cowl out of the way to make it easier on both of them, and gives a respectful pause before inserting the IV, tapes it down just to make _sure_. And because he _knows_ Tim, knows how his mind works, how he runs from things that could hurt him while running headlong into traps and fights to the possible death, how he breaks down the logics behind the action, the Bat gives the Titan’s team leader a run-down of the fight went down after the JL stepped in. He adjusts the bed, returns Tim’s wrist computer, attaches two probes under the body suit, and has a full diagnostic going before he’s even finished with the summary.

( _Batman_ )

B pulls the rolling stool over, adjusts the bed again, and gives Tim his full attention.  “Like I said, your levels are off the wall enough to be concerned. How long have you been on Dom enhancements?”

 _Welp_ , World’s Greatest Detective.

So Tim lets him figure it out, keeps the whiteouts up, lets his jaw get _tight_.

And B’s shoulders sag, just a little, just enough to notice, and the gloved hand twitch on the gurney beside his leg.  “Because I’ll be honest with you, Tim. _I’ve_ been on them for most of my life. Since I presented as a Sub at thirteen, so I _know_ what they can do to you, including the long-term effects, and I can recognize when you’re close to the edge. I _know_ it’s going to be one of the worst drops you’ll ever experience, and I don’t want you to be alone during it. Worst case scenario, your vitals could plummet and no one would until it’s too late. I’m not comfortable with that, _at all._ ”

Of all the things Tim expected to hear, of all the things he could have _imagined_ at this moment–

Bruce Wayne, _Batman,_ coming out to him was absolutely no where on the list.

“Wh– What are you fucking _telling me_ , Bruce?!”

“I always knew you sent out the wrong signals for a Dom,” B’s eyes are sharp and blue, cutting through _so much_ of the past bullshit between them, all the things left unsaid, “I thought maybe you were a Null or a Switch taking enhancers to throw criminals off of your identity. I thought it was something you _planned_ , not something you _needed_.”

Since he’s incredibly _mindblown_ , Tim’s mouth works for a second without anything coming out.

“I’ve never seen you with a Dom, never seen you display any Sub tendencies either, you know. I suppose we’ve both hidden it _that_ well.”

His chest is _aching_ , and Tim realizes it’s because he hasn’t taken a breath yet. “I–I couldn’t chance you’d find out. It’s fucking _weakness_ for a vigilante to kneel, Bruce, for me to–” _want, **need**..._

“For a vigilante, yes. For Tim Drake? For Bruce Wayne? _Never_.”

And just _hearing_ it from B, his mentor and old partner, his _hero_ , makes him angry enough to bare his teeth, to get the things he’s ( _always_ ) never wanted to hear.

“And now...you’re _here_ , close to an overdose, because you _think_ I or anyone else would judge you for being a Sub. You’re here because I didn’t tell you the truth from the beginning,” B closes his eyes, lets out a long, painful sigh.

There’s something _different_ when B opens his eyes again, looks up at Tim’s whiteouts, “I’m _sorry_ , Tim. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry you’ve lived with these assumptions without knowing the truth.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re even _talking_ about.” Because he’s starting to sag back, his thoughts in and out with shock, with what he _thinks_ B might be trying to tell him–

(Or the combination sleep dep/withdrawal of Dom hormones is hitting him hard enough to send him half-way under already–)

Those blue eyes narrow, taking in the glaze to Tim’s gaze, the muscles trembling with stress and strain, wound too tight while the abyss looms closer. _The Drop_. The slang term for when serotonin and dopamine levels in the brain abruptly drop from extended time without being taken down to Subspace by a trustworthy Dom.  

He doesn’t have to be the World’s Greatest Detective to see how long it’s been since Tim’s been in Subspace, the state Subs can achieve when relinquishing control. It’s meant to be the epitome of ecstasy as well as the safest place for a Sub to give in to their instincts– to put themselves in their Dom’s hands, to give the gift of their submission.

Just from the look of him, how Tim’s first reactions are to think he’d been taken out of the Capes and Cowls so _easily_ , like he still isn’t part of the family (and _yes Tim,_ there will be time _later_ to address _that_ ), the Batman glances subtly toward the door where his contingency is waiting.

(Too much about this scenario is hitting B right in the vigilante instincts. He’s seen, saved, counseled abused Subs before – he _knows_ the signs, can read between the _lines_ , can see the signs of strain and fear, can see how Tim tenses even when he’s so close to going over, how he’s ready to automatically _run_.)

So, B dives in, needs to tell Tim something to keep him from giving in to the abyss, to make sure he stays responsive.

“I’m talking about my Dom taking me down at least every other week so I can be stable enough to be Gotham’s Dark Knight.” B’s jaw goes a little tight, the hand on Tim’s locks down, “I’m talking about how a Sub can be a vigilante, how _I_ have been both, how you’re not alone. I’ve haven’t said it, and I’m _sorry_ I didn’t before now, but you’ve never been alone, Tim.”

The truth, the _how to even compute this_ he’s riding is such a real thing. Just _fuck_ , of all the times Bruce decides to go all _Dad_ on him, it’s when he’s trying to get the hell away from everyone so he can shake apart and drop without anyone around to see it.

( _After all these years, his time as Robin, as Red Robin, he never figured it out. Some detective he turned out to be. Fucking_ seriously _._ )

“As much as I appreciate the sudden heart-to-heart,” he wheezes, chest squeezing painfully, “I really need to get to my Perch before–”

“You won’t make it that far,” and Bruce’s expression is softly sad, the hand subtly, slyly moving up so two fingers can rest on Tim’s wrist, the hand tightening like a band, trying to ground him. And he makes it the voice of the _Batman_ to try simulating the Dom’s tone, “You’re already on the edge. You need a Dom you _trust_.”

And _yes_. Tim had taken the same fucked-up orientation class in sixth grade everyone else had fuck you very much. Nulls, Switches, Dominants, and Submissives, all mapped out with a little biology thrown in, but the underlying message in the curriculum had been pretty clear.

Nulls should stay with other Nulls since they can’t give Dom’s the submission needed to balance them out or give Subs the chemicals to stimulate their brains far enough to put them down into Subspace. Switches still needed the exchange of power and couldn’t be fulfilled with Nulls (which is _so_ much bullshit because look at Steph and Cass). Switches needed a partner as adaptable, could be submissive when the other needed dominance and vice versa (also bullshit, seriously why had _anyone_ ever believed anything from _Know Your Orientation 101_?). Submissives were, of course, to _find a good Dom, marry well, and get on your knees when you’re told._ Their places were cut and dry – _do what you’re told and everything will be fine_.

Submissives owned businesses, voted, paid taxes, owned land, worked for large industries, but the roles were so clearly _defined_.

Some progressive schools had specialized _The Submissive: Roles and Responsibilities_ that he’s sure are equally horrific.

To fight his biology, he’d been taking synthetic Dom hormones since he presented at sixteen, long after he’d wearing the cape and couldn’t chance B would make him give it up. The hormones were only meant for the first year after presentation because the long-term effects were, _fucking obviously_ , severe chemical imbalances.

“Tim, has anyone ever taken you down?” B’s voice shakes him from a sluggish review of those classes, the statistics, the consequences of not going down often enough.

“...on–...once. Only-only could...once. Anonymously, at a clinic,” but it tastes bitter in his mouth, the memory of the humiliation afterwards, of the Dom patting him on the ass and leaving him in a sterile room to shiver and shake and cry, let him come out of Subspace alone.

“Come back again when you’re eighteen cutie,” the twentyish Dom told him on the way out, “this was just a place to start. Next time, I’ll show you a _real_ good time.”

But _nope_ , no thank-you. The way he felt dirty for days, _weeks_ had never left him, and his stomach rolls just thinking of it.

“Hey, hey _stay_ with me,” Bruce ducks a little, turns his face, but his eyes are half-mast, glassy, “Tim? _Red?_ You need to tell me where you’re at,” a gloved thumb at the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger, a sharp pinch and his brain gets a little _calmer_.

(Sneaky...B is always so sneaky…)

Words get caught up, his tongue too thick in his mouth, his thoughts hazing in and out.

“F–Fuck,” is sluggish, hard to say, harder to grasp. “I...I don’t–”

( _But you do know, don’t you?_ )

The world fuzzes around him, cold and terrifying, scents fading, his thoughts lagging behind like an old server trying to process.

( _Because you’ve been fighting it, keeping away from Doms, refusing to know your **place**. You’re  a Bad Sub, Tim. Such a bad, bad Sub…_)

But B’s eyes are so _blue_ when his face is turned, “dammit. You’re not tracking. Tim, you have to stay with me. You need to concentrate.”

The sound is low and growly, making him flinch back, try to pull away and lower his eyes.

“...sorry. Bruce, I’m sorry,” because he _is_ , isn’t he?

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Tim. It’s okay, it’s _fine_ , we’re going to take care of it–”

“I never…” because hovering in the back of his brain pan, “n-never should have–”

“You’re a _good_ vigilante, Tim. You’re a good leader–” B tries in a low, soothing voice.

“–n-never should have–should have _forced_ my way in,” he rasps out, staring into those eyes, “didn’t...didn’t want a Robin, but I...but _I_ –” and the darkness eats at the edges of his consciousness, the yawning abyss where all Bad Subs hovered when they’ve seriously _fucked up_.

( _It’s what you deserve, isn’t it?_ )

“No, no, no. Tim. _Tim?”_

“’M sorry,” and he doesn’t feel how _wet_ his eyes are, doesn’t realize the shakes have started under B’s hands, doesn’t realize he’s zoning out quickly.

All he knows is how he should be getting on his knees, how he should bare his throat in submission, how he should take whatever punishment B thinks up. He should be forced down, roped up with a cane whistling in the air behind him, he should be _screaming_ for forgiveness each time it comes down–

(“This is what you’ll get when you’re _bad_. A Dom’s favorite bedroom activity? _Punishments_. Just remember that, baby, and you’ll be fine. You’ll learn to like the pain.”

That day, he learned what being a Sub really meant, where Doms thought his _place_ should be. It’s why he never asked B or Dick or Jay what they did with their Subs, it’s why he decided to hide rather than risk the tunic.)

“– _not_ responding–”

“–but... I _can’t_ , B, I haven’t even seen his contract!”

“–I’ll take responsibility... _get in here_ –”

But he’s with it enough to draw back, to _flinch_ , because the snatches are of _Batman_ and it’s time. It’s time he gave his back and let it happen. It’s time he _paid_ for trying to be something he _can’t be_.

He’s too far gone to realize he’s whimpering, shaking so hard Bruce is having a tough time holding on to him.

( _But at least someone is finally touching you_ –)

“ **Stop**.”

The new voice scares the absolute _shit_ out of him when he’s half-way under, drowning in the fear/want of whatever punishment might be coming his way, and that voice makes him jerk so hard, he tumbles off the gurney, pulls the IV out on the way down.

The impact is more painful than it should be since he’s going under and all his senses are heightened, and he doesn’t know he’s making noises like a wounded animal, fumbling more than scrambling, trying to get his feet under him when all his muscles are turning to jelly, when he’s _failing_ (because he’s a bad vigilante, he’s a _bad Sub_ , what were they even _thinking_ to let him wear the R like he’d ever really _deserve_ it?) so his bare fingers scrabble over the gleaming tile, and he can’t _breathe_ , he can’t fucking _breathe_ –

(“You’ll learn to _love it_.”)

He fucking _chokes_ , can’t get _air_ –

“ **Timmy. On your _knees_**. **Now**.”

The order, the Dom Voice shivers over him, shivers down his spine, is impossible to ignore, to disobey when he’s already going under, hitting the drop. He can’t really stop himself from turning his upper body, giving up on trying to get _away_ , to look at the Dom crouched down beside the medical gurney looking back at him.

But _damn_ if he doesn’t get his knees under him like he’s told, trying, _trying_ –

( _Too fucking late, asshole_. _Of all people to beat the living shit out of you, it’s going to be Dick Grayson._ )

His eyes get wet, stomach rolling with a wave of nausea at the thought of Dick picking up a whip or a paddle still in a fucking domino, of _Dick_ stripping his harness off like he’s suddenly _worthless_ (but you aren’t the Robin he wanted anyway. Maybe he’s the best Dom for the job after all.). All that history, all the fights, all the bonding, all the bruises and contusions, none of it would mean a damn thing once he was under the strap, would it?

He tries to blink fast, but his eyes spill over anyway because it’s too late to get away. It’s too late for–

–everything.

A gentle thumb easily rubs the wet track off his cheek, the words easy and soft, “that’s good, Timmy. Just what I asked you to do. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” Dick’s voice gets soothing and dark, his eyes so blue outlined by the domino without the whiteouts. “Yeah, you are. I _know_ you, Baby Bird. I _know_ how much you do, how hard you work, how many bad guys you stop. You’re _such_ an amazing Sub, so dedicated, so _beautiful_. I’m so _proud_ of what you do, you know that, don’t you?”

And because he’s so _deep_ , his fears tangled up in his brain pan, the words can sink in, are something he can’t escape. It brings him up enough to take in a full breath, for his eyes to get just a little more _focus_.

“M’sorry. S-sorry, Dick, please,” and his chest hitches, the words _please don’t punish me_ getting caught in his throat, fucking _choking_ him.

“Put your lenses up for me, Timmy.”

His hands are shaking, already rising up to do what Dick wants, tapping his mask for the lenses to slide up, to make him flinch back at the abrupt light.

“Hi there. It seems like you’re having a rough day.”

 And something, _something_ makes him flinch away, flinch _back_ , want to crawl and beg for forgiveness, say he’s sorry, he’s so _sorry_ , he can be a good Sub, he can be _good_ –

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re just going really deep, and we need to take care of you, okay?” And Dick crab walks one step closer, keeping his voice low and soothing.

Tim opens his mouth, tries, _tries_ , to say something, _anything_ , but all that comes out are broken noises.

“I know. It’s _okay_ , I know. We’re going to take care of you, I promise, Timmy.” And those fingerstripes are close, _so close_ , close enough to almost touch him. “We’re going to go to the Perch and get you cleaned up. That’s first. You’re going to take a nice shower and put on the clothes I set out for you.”

The plan is forming, Dick giving him the layout. It’s easier, just a _little_ , when all he has to say is, “Yes, Dick.”

“Good. Then we’re going to get on the plane and go back to Gotham. I want to cuddle you on my couch, and you’re going to eat something where I can see you.”

“Y-yes, Dick.”

“Mmhm. And if you’re good? I might give you coffee.”

A long sigh breaks out of him, Tim’s thoughts getting a little more lucid because _coffee_. _Dick will give him coffee if he obeys_ …

The slow movements forward were worth it when Dick is close enough to gently circle Tim’s wrists with his hands, to clamp _down_ and _grip_ , acting like impromptu manacles. When the third Robin’s upper body sways just a little closer, Dick changes his mind and quickly strips off his gloves and gauntlets, using one hand to frame Timmy’s jaw and see how he reacts with skin-to-skin contact–

The soft broken noise, the nudge into his palm tell the Dom _everything_ he needs to know, assures him that Tim is more touch-starved than he’d ever _thought_ before now.

Thus.

 _Octopus hold engaged_.

Still, he’s _easy_ about it, moves slowly so Tim can feel him getting near. “I’m going to zip tie your hands, Timmy. Then, I’m going to carry you.”

And oh, _oh_ , the Sub’s eyes flutter when Dick’s chest is pressed against his, wrapping himself around Tim to bind his pliant arms, to give him the security he _needs_ during a bad drop like this. Dick Grayson makes himself pull back after a nuzzle, takes in the sight of Tim’s wrist bound behind him, posture slightly slumped, relaxed now that he’s been restrained. The whiteouts are up on the cowl so Dick can tell when he’s fading out again, becoming unresponsive even to simple commands.

(The Dom in him _purrs_ , excited the beautiful Sub in front of him wants to be _good_ , is trying so hard to be pleasing, needs touch and direction, needs to give up control, control the Dom _craves_ to have.)

B had laid out for him in a fast explanation, that a terrible Dominant in Timmy’s past had probably caused this, that care and consideration was needed, that their bird thought they cut his wings, maybe sell him to the highest bidder, had pretty much counting on _worst case scenario_.

(“He needs firm and gentle, Dick. He needs to know he’s still one of us, no matter what his orientation.”

“Bruce...I’m going to _kill_ whoever did this to him.”

“We don’t kill, but maim? I can get behind that. _After_ you put Tim in subspace.”

“Totally a given. I’ll take him back to Gotham. He’ll be fine at my place, still familiar without all his bolt holes.”

“Sound plan. Call me if anything happens.”

“You know I will, BatDad. Go find Clark and let him take care of you. I’m going to try using _The Voice_ to pull him out of it.”)

Which means, he’s going to do everything _right_.

“You’re so _beautiful_ , Timmy, so good. You like that? My zip tie around your wrists?” Dick leans close enough for Tim to sway against him, rest against his chest and hunch his shoulders up, trying to get _closer_.

“Yes, Dick.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Tim. If you like what I’m doing, I want you to _tell me_. I’m going to ask you to say your safeword if you don’t like something I’m doing. If something doesn’t feel right to you, I need you to tell me your safeword.”

The Sub turns his face further to hide, “s-safeword? I...I don’t– I–I _can’t_...”

( _“You’ll take whatever I want. You’ll submit to me, little Sub. You take whatever your Dom gives you, understand?”_ )

It’s a good thing B is out of the room, or else the Dark Knight would be jumping out the window, _livid_ , out for _blood_.

Dick can’t help it when his muscles go tense, earning a broken sound out of Tim, the Sub immediately trying to pull away, to pull _back_ , to protect himself.

“No, no, no, come here,” the eldest Robin grips him again, moves to get the damn cowl off, to bare Tim’s face and nuzzle against his cheek and nose, “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, okay? I’m mad that you don’t know how to use a safeword to stop me if I’m hurting you. You...you should _know_ it’s okay to safeword out of a scene.”

“N-no. I... I’m not allowed to do that.”

And since he can map the open expressions fluttering across the ( _his_ ) Sub’s face, the confused furrow of his brow, it takes _so much control_ for Dick to stay calm when his instincts –his inner Dom, his inner vigilante, his inner big brother– are all screaming to find Timmy’s Dom and _make him pay_.

But now is not the time, not when Tim needs him, has been abused, doesn’t _know_ the real power in the Dom/Sub dynamic lies with the Sub.

(And even though he’s holding on, is so _angry_ Tim’s been hurt by a Dom, should only be concerned about taking care of their Red Robin, he can’t help but wonder how _beautiful_ Tim would be if he gave Dick the gift of his submission – _willingly_. If he let Dick teach him how wonderful it could feel to just _let go_.)

He distracts himself from the _immediate_ questions and demands hovering right on the tip of his tongue by pulling Tim back into his arms, manhandling the smaller vigilante to be carried.

Of course, Tim is a powerhouse in a small package, always has been, even before he wore the R. But with how easily Dick can carry him is one of the many indications his Baby Bird has been riding the lone Sub train for way, _way_ too long–

(–because a good Dom always wants his Sub to be happy, healthy, and maybe a little bit spoiled. No Dom would have let Tim get this light without putting him down and hand feeding him until he’s full _every_ _night._ )

–and if Tim would just _let him_ , if Tim could stay around after he comes back up, if he could just _stop running_ , Dick would make _sure_ he would never flinch away again.

(You don’t even _know_ how good I’m going to be to you, sweetheart.)

If there had been any question as to what Dick Grayson’s orientation was, the second he came striding out of the Med-Bay with Tim in his arms, the radiating aura of _Dom_ and _mine_ would have pretty much answered _that_.

Bart’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, but Nightwing doesn’t even seen him or Kon hanging out in the hall, worried even after the Batman came out and promised them N wouldn’t hurt Tim in any way.

Kon catches the way Tim is slack in the Dom’s hold, almost _relaxed_ with his arms bound behind him. He’s heard enough Sub stories to know how badly a drop can go, and how draining it could be for both Dom and Sub, that he doesn’t interrupt the way Nightwing is murder-walking away to the elevator.

“This–this could be very bad for Tim,” Bart says seriously once the doors close, and the two of them catch the way Nightwing is looking down at Tim’s bent head, a combination of _dangerous_ and _doting_ that leaves them wondering who the one in need really is.

“I think if anyone is in trouble–”

“ _No, dude_. You’re not getting it.”

“B-Man, it’s _just_ chemicals in his brain, right? They’ll do...whatever they need to do...and T is gonna be the same ole’ pain in the ass we all know and love.”

“Kon, for fuck’s sake, Tim’s been mostly in _love_ with that guy his whole life. For Grayson, this is about being a good Dom, but for Tim, it’s going to be–”

“Oh,” because since Bart put it _that way_.

“We’re going to have to do some major damage control when he comes out of it and drops back in with the team.”

“It’s going to be fine dude. It’s Tim we’re talking about. He’s going to move forward, and we’ll be there to pull him back kicking and screaming if we have to.”

“Hm, sounds like a plan. All right, let’s get to the debrief with the JLA and make sure everyone’s okay. We’ll get the reports ready for him, and go from there.”

 

**

The sink in the bathroom of the Perch is perfect for...multiple things. Right now, it’s the perfect place for Tim’s ass while Dick turns the shower on and pulls the domino off his face.

“Timmy, I’m going to tell you to check-in. When I do, I want you to answer _green_ if you’re feeling okay with everything. I want you to answer _yellow_ if something doesn’t feel okay. I want you to answer _red_ when you want to stop what we’re doing.”

He tests the water with bare hands, making sure it isn’t too hot or too cold, the perfect in-between.

“When I ask you to check-in, what are you going to tell me, Tim?”

It takes a second before the slurry reply parrots his instructions back, “green meansss good. Yellow, not...not good. Red. Red is stop.”

“That’s perfect, sweetheart. And you’re going to say _yellow_ or _red_ when you need to. You _will_ say it for me.”

“Y-Yes, Dick.”

“That’s my good boy. You’re doing so _well,_ Timmy. Exactly what I want you to do. You’re so good for me, sweetheart.”

Without the cowl, Tim can’t hide when his cheeks get a little _pink_.

“Now, I need to cut the zip tie because I want you to take off the suit and get in this shower. You can do that for me, can’t you Tim?”

“Mmhm, shower. Yes, Dick.”

“Of course you can. You’re a good Sub, Timmy, so pretty like this.” A wingding cuts the zip tie, and Dick is already pulling Tim’s gloves and gauntlets, checking his bare wrists for marks, humming in satisfaction when there’s none.

He steps back so Tim can follow the order, weapons and harness, cape and boots, tunic folded neatly, leaving him only in the body suit.

“Tell me the truth, Tim. Were you hurt out there?” Dick holds the curtain back, eyes drawn when hands hesitate to unzip the body suit.

The first time Tim opens his mouth, no sounds comes out.

_Oh God, Tim. Who...What did your Dom do to you?_

On the second try, it’s hoarse and soft, following orders against what he’s been taught so far ( _“Subs are sluts for pain. Every Dom knows that.”_ ). “Y-Yes...Yes, Dick.”

Another hot surge of anger has to be tamped down, has to be saved for the right person, for the right place and time–

( _After Tim’s out of danger, he’s going to call **Jay**. Then they’re going to find an asshole Dom, and ruin his damn **day** , so help him–_)

“I’m not mad, and I’m not going to punish–”

But the small, broken noise again, the one that sets his teeth on _edge_.

“Never mad at you for fighting bad guys, sweetheart, I _promise_. I just need to take care of your injuries, that’s _all_.”

“Bruises...jus-just bruises,” and trembling hands are pulling down the catch, giving Dick a look at skin and scars, old hurts and new, pink, shiny ones that are still healing. The dark blue/black/purple along Tim’s ribs, from his shoulder down where he fell, the tender way his body arcs over it, all of it drives sympathetic noises from the Dom, gives him another reason to stay _calm_.

“Oh, sweetheart, those look like they hurt so much. C’mere and let’s get you under the water, see if that helps.”

And it’s gentle hands helping him get the undersuit off, easing the boxers down his bruised thigh and swollen knee. Gentle hands unwrapping his ankles for him, guiding him trembling and naked under the warm spray.

Since Dick isn’t angry, since he’s isn’t...since he’s not going to be punished ( _yet_ ) it’s okay for Tim to drift under and let those hands gently work shampoo in his hair and lather, to let the loofa move over his bruised and abraded skin. It’s okay to not be fucking _terrified_ of everything he might say or do.

He can just _be_ , can lift his arms when he’s told, can tilt his head back in the spray, can let hands direct him to turn, can step out, shaking, and be engulfed in a huge towel while Dick holds him close and pets his wet hair, cooing against the top of his head.

He can woodenly put on the clothes Dick has laid out for him, soft sweats and t-shirt, a favorite hoodie, two different socks, and a battered pair of skater shoes. The world behind him is distorted and unclear, so much _wah wah wah_ when Dick is working at his system to warm up the plane, and fitting his domino back on (but the gloves stay off because Tim needs as much skin-to-skin contact as he can get, needs to be touch so very badly, needs to be _cared for_ so much it makes Dick’s inner Dom _shake_ ).

Dick turns away from the system and snatches a pillow up from the bed, following the plan dictated by his instincts, “you’re doing so well, sweetheart. I know it’s hard to think right now, but I’m so proud of you for trying.” He’s gentle about wrapping his bare fingers around Tim’s wrist, thumb idly stroking over the pulse. “Now, you’re going to follow me. We’re going to get on the plane. Once I put this pillow down, I want you to kneel on it.”

No reply, no twitch, no indication Tim had even heard him.

 _Fuck. That’s bad_.

His heart hammering, Dick gives a small tug on the wrist, lets out a deep breath when Tim steps forward with the movement.

It doesn’t surprise him the Titans are missing when he loads Tim up in the repurposed Batplane, silently thanking the JLA for keeping them busy so no one makes this harder than it needs to be (and since Timmy’s kept this, his _orientation_ , a secret for so long, considering the obvious abuse he’s been through, Dick knows he would _hate_ any confrontation, that his team being here would drive him further under, would make the drop _worse_. Thank Batman for small miracles).

The walkway rises the second they’re inside, the engine loud even from in the cockpit.

Luckily, there’s enough room between the pilot and co-pilot seats for Dick to drop the pillow as he slides down in the pilot’s chair.

He slides the seat back a notch until it clicks and hopes Tim isn’t too far into the drop to forget the instructions.

He flips a few switches, types in Gotham coordinates, and keeps an eye on Tim out of his peripheral. The sniffle almost makes him flinch, but Tim drops down to kneel on the pillow, bowing his head down, keeping his spine straight, and turned to the side just enough to bare his jugular–

( _When I find the Dom that taught him that pose, I’m going to kick his ass so hard **he’ll** have to be the one kneeling–_ and oh yes, _yes_ , Dick is going to put that bastard in a _world_ of _hurt_.)

“Ssshhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here, and I won’t hurt you.” Gently, Dick lays his bare palm against the side of Tim’s throat, thumb stroking over his cheek, wiping away the wet trail. “It’s okay. I’m here to take care of you.”

He exudes just a hint of pressure, guiding Tim to lean against his leg, cheek against his thigh.

Boneless, Tim follows the move, still non-verbal, eyes dazed, muscles lax now that he isn’t moving.

“I need you to check-in with me, Timmy,” he keeps his voice low, not using his Dom voice yet unless the Sub becomes completely unresponsive again. “Do you remember what I need you to tell me?”

He feels the movement close to his thumb, Tim’s eyes fluttering, “sss… Green – green meansss good. Y-yellow n-not...not good. R-red…”

“Mmhm,” he hums gently as the plane starts to rise, holding his Sub against his thigh.

“...stop. I...If I...need to stop, have to...have to tell you.”

“Yes, that’s right. If you need to stop, you _have_ to tell me. I’m proud of you for remembering that.”

“Yes...Dick.”

“Now, you need to tell me which color, Timmy. I need to know where you’re at so I can be a good Dom for you. You’re such a sweet little Sub, and you deserve a good Dom.”

Hearing Tim whimper, feeling more _wet_ on his thumb breaks Dick’s heart, gives him a healthy dose of _fear_.

“N-no...bad, Dick. I...I’m _bad_ ,” and Tim’s chest hitches against Dick’s knee, “gonna punish me–”

The words choke off at the same time the shakes start.

Right now, Dick would give his _right arm_ for a collar, something to ground Tim away from what the horrible Dom might have done to him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, Tim, _no_. Punishments are _off_ the table. So far off the table, they aren’t even in the room right now–”

But the trembling is getting worse, Tim’s chest shuddering with sobs.

“Look at me. _Now_.”

 _Nothing_.

Dick takes a deep, _deep_ breath as the thrusters engage. His thumb moves to the spot behind Tim’s ear, presses down on the pressure point there. More weight slumps against his leg, but the trembling vigilante is still silently sobbing, going non-responsive right in front of him.

 _Dammit_.

For the record, Dick hates using the Dom Voice. If only for the reason so many Doms use it to force Subs into drops for their own amusement rather than subspace. Some sickos enjoy watching their Submissives shake apart and cry, feel little more than utterly _worthless_. As vigilantes, they’ve pulled more than one Sub out of BDSM Dom parties in the middle of a drop, heart rates sluggish, as close to death as they could possibly be.

But when he’s got no other option, when it’s _Tim_ , he’s not going to let it get _worse_.

“ **Look at me.** ”

The head of too-long hair whumps against his knee, fumbling until Tim can hold it up enough for those blue-violet eyes to flutter up at him.

To see his former Robin spaced out, face wet, body violently trembling, riding in and out of a dangerous drop, all of it hits Dick’s inner Dom like a fist to the jaw.

( _How did he miss it? Why didn’t he see how much Tim **needed** him? Needed something? How was he ever going to make it right?_)

“ **I will _not_ punish you like this. Say you understand, Tim.**”

A blink, his breathing still too fast, too hard, too _scared_. “I...I understand, Dick.”

“ **Good. Good. You’re such a good Sub for me, sweetheart. Perfect. Beautiful. Everything I want.** ”

“N-No, you d-don’t–” but Tim sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to stop the words suddenly so close to the surface, words that have hovered, existed in the shadowy part of his brain pan for most of his life.

“ **Tell me**.”

(Later, much later, Dick will feel bad about making it an order instead of a suggestion.)

“Y-you...you never wanted me. None of you ever wanted me.” His eyes blow wide, and he rocks back on his heels, as far away as he can manage to get. (But he can’t look away from Dick’s face, not after the Dom ordered him, so he can’t look away from the abrupt _surprise_ there. If he’d been more himself, hadn’t almost been lost in the drop, he’d scoff because _honestly_ , like he hadn’t figured it out?)

“Oh my _God_ , Tim, it wasn’t like that! I swear, it wasn’t like that at all.”

Still looking at him, Tim doesn’t say another _word_.

Dick clears his throat, engaging the autopilot to take them back to their city, already planning on how he’s going to get Tim to his apartment while keeping him from dropping too deep. “How long have you felt like this? How long have you thought no one wanted you?”

The silence draws his gaze back to the trembling Sub kneeling beside his chair, watching Tim bite down _harder_ , hard enough to puncture.

“ **Answer me, Tim.** ”

 _Dammit. I thought we were past this_.

He sees the struggle, sees Tim’s eyes narrow while he tries to fight the drop enough not to answer.

“A...Always,” is a hard whisper. “I’ve always known.”

He flinches when Dick’s mouth drops open and forces himself to stay still. ( _“You don’t **ever** move away.”_)

“Timmy,” the fingers moving to shift through his hair are gentle (but he knows that’s going to change, the grip is going to get tight and pull, is going to make him do what he’s told, and since it’s _Dick_ , it might not...it might not be _so_ bad this time), and the light scritching of nails makes some tension in him, the underlying _I know what’s about to happen. I can’t stop it, I can’t fight it_ ease back a little and the darkness eating at his vision clears just slightly.

“I...I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m glad you did. That means I know what I’m trying to understand so I can help make it better.”

The scritching gets stronger and when Dick smiles down at him, turns away from the control panel enough to nudge Tim back against his leg, giving him something to lean on.

“You don’t...I mean it’s _fine_ –”

“Sshh, no, Timmy. No, it’s not. It’s very far from _fine_ if you think for one _second_ you were anything other than a _completely necessary_ part of the family. As Red, as Robin, as _Timmy_. You’ve been making your mark on the family tree even before you told me ‘Batman needs a Robin.’ You were watching out for B and me and Jay from the very beginning, and you think we don’t notice you still are?”

And Dick makes it easy, leaning down enough to put them closer, tapping the domino to raise his whiteouts. His other hand snakes down to encircle a limp wrist, tighten down again to hopefully bring his bird back up again.

“I know _I’ve_ always needed you. Not just because you kept him level, or because you’re so self-sufficient, or because you’re some kind of Bat Tech Desk. It, _us_ , was never because of things like _need_ over _want_. C’mon Timmy. I never needed a Robin. Bruce never _needed_ a Robin. You’ve seen him at his worst, you _knew_ back then he would pull himself back before he went over the edge. He always does. But what we _did_ need?” And Dick slowly brings up the hand he’s controlling, lays Tim’s palm against his cheek, and just gives _that smile_ , the one that’s goofy and fond and loving. “We _needed_ a Tim Drake. Not someone we could train, not another body in the Good Fight. We needed you.”

Those eyes blink up at him, more weight sinking back on his thigh, the ( _his_ ) Submissive seeming to relax in increments.

“We’ve...we’ve been getting there. You’re back in Gotham more than you used to be, and I just haven’t had the right time to tell you how much I _missed this_ with you. But… I know we aren’t anywhere _here_ yet, taking me on as your Dom. You need to understand that you don’t have to keep me or claim me. All you have to do is say your safeword and everything _stops_. You need to understand I’m here to take care of you, keep you safe while you’re in subspace. But you chose whether or not you _let_ me, okay?”

And it’s crazy how he’s staring at Dick’s eyes from just a few inches away while he’s kneeling on a fucking pillow of all things while he’s laying against a meaty thigh. It’s crazy how it’s just _Dick_ and those words sink in to the cloudy darkness, the consistent twist to his insides, how he can justify risking himself to try believing again.

“I...I get to choose? If I say _no_ , then you’ll...you’ll really stop?”

When that expression changes, becomes solemn, his spine relaxes enough to sink right into Dick’s calf, his free hand wrapping around the Dom’s ankle.

“My _word_ , Tim. The second you safeword, everything will stop _immediately_.”

He swallows a little as the scritching moves lower to the base of his neck, what he wants spilling right the fuck out before he can get his thoughts solid enough to hold it back:

“Dick… S-Sir, can you…can you zip tie me again?”


	2. Sub!Tim, the Continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s such a hard fight for him, Dick already knows, and he’s trying so damn hard to be _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I've had this sitting for a while >.< I was going to use it in the next Follower post on Tumblr, but I realized how many little things I haven't posted here yet :D

Reading the analysis, realizing how _long_ Tim had been hiding from him, had shaken Dick’s world to the _bone_.

The Dom in him is absolutely helpless against a beautiful Sub in the first place, especially ones that could play more than one role. With how wide and varied Dick’s taste ran in the bedroom, his inner Dom only made him more creative when it came to a Sub that could be a downright brat one second and be a mewling, needy little thing the next.

Finding out Timmy has been a Sub all along makes _none_ of this easier on him in the slightest.

Finding out Tim was probably abused, hadn’t felt safe enough coming to him rocked Dick Grayson harder than he’d ever imagined.

Finding out he might get the chance to be a good Dom to his former Robin is both temptation and redemption. Regardless, it’s long past due to make-up for the lack of attention, and Dick literally _aches_ for it.

“You’re so gorgeous like this, Sweetheart, absolutely _perfect_ ,” floats over his head, makes Tim sink down just a little further under.

( _Even though he’s only really been down in Subspace once, he_ knows _how close he’s getting. Blinks are lost minutes, his head fuzzy with Dick’s attention._ )

He gives an experimental twist, testing the strength of Dick’s zip tie. Somewhere down deep, somewhere he’s still _Tim Drake, Vigilante_ , he knows he can get out of them. He can dislocate his thumbs, he can nudge the tie past the bone in his wrists, he can pull the hidden tool in the sole of his shoe, he can escape this in about _twenty_ different ways.

But the Sub in him reacting to Dick’s Dom, the Sub that’s been _clawing_ at his insides, trying to get _out_ , just sighs in something like _relief_ , feels like he’s being held securely with his arms bound with Dick’s restraints.

( _Safe._ )

He doesn’t have to make decisions, to have a contingency for all the foreseeable possibilities. He doesn’t have to be completely focused and at the top of his game, always looking for evidence to reason out the logical conclusions. He doesn’t have to be responsible for his team of meta humans with insane powers, calculating strategies each step of the way. He doesn’t have all the pressure riding on the edge of his cape, weighing him down. He doesn’t have the strain of lives on his shoulders, of the expectations just because he’s a _Bat_.

In the here and now, he can just lean against Dick’s thigh and let ( _his_ ) the Dom direct them. He can give in to Dick’s obsessive need to have _control_.

“That feels nice, doesn’t it?” The hand on the back of his neck, bare fingers massaging little circles in the tight tendons, exudes just enough pressure to make him pant.

_You literally have no idea_. “Yes, Sir,” slurry and low, his chest rising and falling.

“Mmhm. I want you to sit on your butt instead of kneel, Timmy. Your knee is still swollen, and I’ll be upset if it gets worse.”

And he doesn’t have to think too much about it, just slides his legs out without moving away from the cushion of Dick’s thigh where the hand on the back of his neck is keeping him grounded.

“Thank-you. You’re starting to slide down, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He hums, and lets his head fall forward a little, gives enough room for Dick to palm the back of his neck, holding him where he needs to be.

“I’m glad. I want you to feel safe enough with me to relax, and just let me take care of you, okay? But, Timmy–”

The hand on the back of his neck turns him so he can see Dick’s face, those _eyes_ focused on him, outlined by the domino, sees Dick is smiling at him gently. “While we’re flying, I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to be honest with me. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” but _that_ , something about questions makes him blink against the Kevlar/Nomac weave, makes him come up from the ease and softness settling around him.

“That’s my good boy. Just relax. You’re not in any trouble. I hope I can help you go down into subspace, but I don’t know _how_ I can help you and you’re not with it enough to make a contract right here. So, I just need to know what things bring you up from subspace. Can you tell me that, Timmy?”

“...” The fingers on the back of his neck slide up into his hair, skritching at his scalp, making a small shudder run up his spine.

“I…” and he has to swallow, let his eyes flutter closed because he’s not sure how to answer, how to tell Dick he’s not supposed to dislike _anything_ his Dom does to him. As a Sub, it’s his job to take it all, to want whatever his Dom wants. He’s not supposed to–

(“ _You’ll learn to love it.”_ )

“–im? _Sweetheart_.”

“Wh-whatever– whatever you want, Sir,” but his mouth feels like cotton, the words making something in his chest give a _twist_. “I...I’ll do whatever you want.”

“No, no, no,” Dick’s hand on his neck pulls him back, pulls him up, holds him so the Dom can face him, can wag a finger in his face. “This isn’t about what _I_ want. This is about what you _don’t want_. Do you understand, Tim?”

“N-No, Sir,” and he feels the twisting tension getting _tighter_ , his eyes getting stupidly hot and wet. “I–I don’t... I _can’t_ –” _say no_. The sharp breath makes him flinch back because he’s being bad, can’t answer Dick’s questions even when he wants so desperately to be _good_. The tiny whimper is so low and pained, confused and distressed, Dick almost, _almost_ grabs him up immediately to sit in his lap, but the plane’s controls are too close to squish them both in the seat. _Damn_.

The eldest Robin turns the pilot’s chair to the side, away from the controls to wrap an arm around Tim’s back, and pull the Sub between his legs, locking down in an inescapable hold. He’s pissed he can’t put the chair any further back or he’d just keep the Sub on his lap for the remainder of the ride. “Okay, okay, ssshhhh. It’s okay, sweetheart. How about if I help you. Would you like that? For Sir to help?”

“Yes...yes, Sir. Please,” because he’s so confused, doesn’t know how to be good, to be what Dick _wants_.

“Answer me honestly, Tim. No lying, no trying to guess what I might want you to say. You’re going to tell me the truth.”

And the tension in his chest eases down when he can say, “Yes, Sir,” because he can do that. He can tell Dick the truth. It would be hard after he’s lied for so long, but if that’s what ( _his_ ) the Dom really wants, he can do it.

“Good. So good for me, aren’t you?”

He sighs as a hand moves into his hair and skritches at his scalp again.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’ll start off slow and easy.”

He hums that he’s heard because Dick’s fingers feel so nice and the Dom is going to take it slow with him, going to be easy. He’d start crying with how kind it is, but is pretty sure Dick wouldn’t want to see that ( _the other Dom got so mad it when he cried, told him he should be grateful, that Subs **wanted** this..._) and just slumps deeper into the hold to hide his wet eyes.

“Since you like my zip ties so much, would you like to try my other restraints? I have leather ones, metal ones, even some made of Kevlar.”

It doesn’t take much, just the thought of cuffs tight around his wrists and ankles, ones just for him, makes a shiver work down his spine, a low throb of _want_. He chokes back the tears, hiding his face, “I...would like to wear your cuffs, Sir.”

“Mmhm.” Dick watches his every move, stroking his hair, wondering if he’s emotional because he finally has a chance to _let go_ and be the Sub he’s secretly always been. The detective in him doubts it, but he keeps playing the game, trying to put Tim at ease. “That sounds perfect. You’d look so _beautiful_ all bound up for me, Timmy.”

“Thank-you, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. _But,_ I only want to put them on you if they make you feel safe with me. If that’s not something you think you’d like, you need to _tell_ me.”

“Feels good.” He flexes his bound arms to emphasize the point.

“Okay, sweetheart, we can do that. How about if I have a collar for you? Would you like to wear my collar? Would you like everyone knowing you’re _my_ Sub? My good boy?”

And just, _oh God_. He can already feel the collar around his neck, the weight of it, the ownership, the leash that could be clipped to it so Sir could direct him, lead him. All of it would mean...all of it would mean he could belong to Dick–

“Yes, Sir.” is more slurred this time, is the soft edges creeping around his vision, “I...I want to wear your collar.”

And Dick can tell by how Tim slumps, wiggles his shoulders a little at the mention of restraints and collars, has a dreamily quality to his tone, that they’re in the green here. He still needs to tread lightly, to be so _careful_ he doesn’t set Tim off. It would be _amazing_ if he could find the right combination to get his former Robin closer to subspace, could work him to the point of trust that he could give up just enough control to skim the edges… and eventually fall over.

“You’d look _gorgeous_ in my collar, Timmy. Maybe you’d like a blindfold with it, just while you’re kneeling for me.”

“Would try it for you, Sir.”

“Mmhm. And What do you tell me if you aren’t sure about it?” And Dick feels his eyes flutter while he tries to think.

“Y-Yellow, Sir?”

“That’s right. I know it’s hard to think right now, but you’re doing so well.”

“Thank-you, Sir. Wanna...wanna be _good_ for you.”

“And you are, sweetheart. I’d like to try getting you closer to subspace when we get to my apartment. I know that might be scary, but I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I won’t let anything happen that you don’t want to happen.”

“...that’s why the blindfold?”

“Yes. Blindfolds and ear plugs can help if you’re too wound up to go down.”

He felt Tim’s jaw tighten, the effort it takes for ( _his_ ) the Sub to keep himself quiet.

“No, no, no.” Dick tips Tim’s head back so the older vigilante is making him look _up_ , “you need to tell me. I want to be a good Dom and take care of you. I can’t do that if you keep things from me.”

Tim’s eyes aren’t dilated enough, he’s not close enough ( _yet_ ).

“...I...I _can’t_ go down, Sir. H-He...got mad because I couldn’t– I kept coming _back_ and-and–” _that’s bad. I was so **bad** for him, Sir, no one wants a bad Sub_...

The anger hits Dick all over again, a Dom getting upset when a young, untrained Sub can’t drop is _such_ bullshit. (Dom 101: if your Sub can’t drop, it’s usually on you.) “No, no, no. _Listen to me_. He was bad, Tim. He should never have gotten mad at you. He should have tried another way to help you.”

“But I fought it, Sir. I fought him–”

“He should have been patient with you, Tim! You were...young, right? Didn’t he even read your contract?”

“... didn’t have one.”

Dick’s arms tighten around him, one hand sliding down Tim’s arms to grip his bound wrists. His fingers are long enough to wrap around both and tighten down, feeling the trembling start there. He touches to keep himself _grounded_ because while his inner Dom wouldn’t let him hurt an abused Sub, his vigilante instincts want to _find_ and _bring to justice_.

“Easy, Timmy. He’s not here with you. I am, and I won’t take you down like that. We’re going to do it the _right_ way. We’re going to make sure you like it. Do you understand?”

He feels Tim take a deep breath, chest expanding.

“You need to tell me what he tried to do so I _won’t_ make those mistakes. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Please... _please_ don’t make me,” and Tim’s eyes flutter, the light pink blush fading out of his face.

“Okay, okay. Eventually...we’ll need to talk about it, okay? Then we’ll talk about why he was wrong, and maybe that will help you understand what I want from you.” He uses his grip to ease Tim back to lean against his thigh, slide his hand up to the side of Tim’s neck and press him there. “But not this scene. I don’t want to push you any closer to a Drop.”

The sigh of relief lifts his shoulder, his pulse slowing down under Dick’s bare fingers.  He turns his face into that hard muscle and hides just a little.

“Thank-you, Sir.”

Even with the whiteouts hiding those eyes, the smile on Dick’s face is enough to make some of the tightness in his chest ease, “you’re welcome. It’s tough for you, I know, but you’re being so good for me, such a pretty, perfect Sub,” and fingertips rub in soothing circles, keeping him held against Dick’s thigh, grounding him, “when we get to my place, I’m going to prove it to you, sweetheart. I’m going to take _such_ good care of you.”

The way Dick says it, the _promise_ there makes some of the tension in his shoulders ease down, and he’s grateful, so fucking grateful ( _his_ ) the Dom doesn’t make him relive the last time he’d tried to go down, tried to be _good_ , that he can relax back into the muscle of Dick’s thigh and believe just a little that Dick means all the talk about _perfect_ and _good_.

( _But it’s not going to last, is it?_ )

Still, the rest of the flight blurs around the edges while he gets to sit on his pillow and Dick idly runs a hand through his hair. At some point, he blinks at the Dom when a hand squeezes his thigh, and just like that, he’s got some zip line rope looping around his thighs above his injured knee.

“What are you going to tell me if it gets uncomfortable or painful?”

“...Yellow, Sir.”

“Good Boy.”

And if Tim is helpless after that to do much more than stare up at Dick’s familiar feature, to grow lax and compliant with the bindings, to wonder what it might feel like if Dick leaned down to kiss him nice and slow, to talk against his mouth, to direct him with a hand on his jaw, to touch him while telling him how _good_ he feels, how much his Dom _wanted_ him–

( _Oh God, this isn’t the time, not while he’s literally sitting at Dick’s feet._ )

Well, it’s fine for him to imagine because Dick is only doing this to keep him from the Drop, and anything else is just old wants and needs coming to the fore now that he can give in to the Submissive.

None of it means a damn thing, and in the end, it’s still going to be just fine.

 

**

Even though he feels too overwhelmed being here again, in Dick’s apartment, in Dick’s _bedroom_ , riding the edges of the drop, shaky and unbalanced, something about the way Dick buckles the collar seems to make some of it settle deep in his brain pan. The heavy weight is a soothing thing, loose so he can breathe, a small plate on the front with _Good Boy_ giving him a reason to take a real _breath_.

( _The leather feels nice, so nice. But Dick could tighten it, make it press against his throat harder–_ )

“Here we are, sweetheart,” and his eyes flutter when Dick leans down just a little to press a kiss to his forehead. “I want you to take off everything but your boxers. Fold them neatly over on the bed and come back to me.”

With his hands free, he can do what Dick wants, stumbling over to the bed and start stripping mechanically, trying not to show how hard his stomach is clenching.

The soft _saaahh_ is Dick working with a thick red rope, another coil looped laying around his chest a deep green, reminiscent of his tights when he used to wear the R–

Tim lines up his shoes, and stands with his eyes lowered, collared, his skin and scars on display while his hands tremble at his sides. He watches Dick work the rope into specific knots from under his lashes, trying not to focus on the many things Dick can do with that rope to cause him nothing but _pain_ , trying not giving in to the darkness creeping up his spine to his brain pan–

( _Dick won’t hurt me, Dick won’t hurt me, Dick won’t hurt me_ )

Even if the Dom wanted to use a cane or whip, wanted him to kneel on sandpaper, wanted to see his skin welt up and _break_ , it couldn’t be worse than what he’d already been through, what the other Dom _told_ him he needed as a Sub. And if he could get through the worst of it, get through _this_ , maybe–maybe Dick would call him a good again…

“– **Tim, _Tim_**. **Look at me. _Now_**.”

The Voice makes an unconscious whimper fall out of his mouth, and he almost slides to his knees in submission, but Dick grips the back of his neck _tight_ , makes him tilt his eyes _up_.

“Don’t drop on me, Tim,” with an edge of desperation, the Dom pulls him closer, “we need to make you feel safe enough for Subspace, so I need you to try and stay with me.”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” but it sounds choked because his eyes are heavy and wet.

“Good boy, that’s my good Timmy,” and Dick starts using the red rope, starts winding it around Tim’s upper body with quick, practiced, precise movements, making sure the knots are in strategic places on Tim’s shoulders, chest, and hips, all of it keeping the criss-cross sections _tight_.

With each loop, each bite, each tug to tighten, it’s like the pressure of being _held_ , being _safe_ , and it’s a crazy thing when he can breathe easier and easier, when it feels like he isn’t going to fly apart with the noise in his head.

It’s not until he makes a sound, something low and needy when the ropes bite softly into him, give him something he’d tried so _hard_ to deny, to deflect, to _refuse_. It gave him the illusion of support and security; it gave someone ownership over him–

( _because always the last one left standing, aren’t you Timmy?_ )

–and the Submissive hovering under his skin can make him relax in the ropes, mouth dropping open, eyes sliding half-closed.

“God, that’s perfect,” Dick pauses when the ropes reach Tim’s hips, taking in the layers of Robin red framing the pale skin and scars in contrast.

“You are so _beautiful_ in my ropes, sweetheart.” And the Dom keeps it gentle but firm, palming the curve of his jaw, turning him _up_ so his cheeks start to get warm at the affection in Dick’s eyes, “I spent so much _time_ with this one, and it’s one of my favorites. I dyed it, treated it, so it would be nice and soft because _my Sub_ deserves nice things.”

“It feels perfect, Sir,” and Tim tries to straighten up, to be perfectly _still_ while Dick looks him over.

The Dom hums softly, gently testing the ropes before taking the green coil and unraveling it with just a flick of his wrist.

The green is tighter around his ankles, moving up his calves and thighs in cross-crosses punctuated with knots so the weight will disperse more evenly while keeping Tim held tight enough he’ll have to come up out of Subspace to escape.

( _Dick is banking on the real trick to getting Tim deep enough to hit Subspace is going to be making that always-working, worst-case-scenario, always-have-a-plan Submissive to just_ **stop**. _Stop talking. Stop moving. Stop thinking_ ).

He pauses at Tim’s hips where red and green would meet, leans in to nuzzle at _his_ Sub’s nose with the slack from both ropes in his free hand. He takes in how dilated Tim’s eyes are now, the pink on his cheeks replacing the frightening pale from when the drop first started.

All good signs, all things he _wants_ to see.

( _But the thought, the picture flashes across his mind before he can stop it– of Tim begging, sobbing, whining, bound tightly in Dick’s ropes while his body is straining for release, flexing his hips and thighs to show off the space between his legs, thrusting up to fuck his straining cock in the air, a futile attempt for friction, asking to be punished if he comes before Dick gives him permission… But none of that can happen until Tim understands what a Dom_ really _wants from his Sub, and_ God _, Dick could show him, couldn’t he?_ )

With the two strands, Robin’s colors, he loops the slack in strategic knots at the hips, ribs, and ankles, making bigger loops there that would hold–

“I want you to stay right there for me, Timmy. You’re being _so good_ , sweetheart. God, _look at you_. And this is _all_ for me.” Dick takes a second to get himself back under control, tries to will his libido down while taking in the bound former Robin, slowly stalking his way around to make sure there’s no sign of Tim’s circulation being cut off.

( _He’s going to watch for it until their session is done. Things any good Dom would do during a scene. And now that he has time to look at his Sub’s back, to wonder at the finest scars, if the other Dom had–_

_Breaking skin without_ express, _written consent of the Submissive in a clinic is illegal in most states. Someone’s not going to get a strongly worded fucking_ letter _._ )

“You could be out of those ropes in under a minute,” he’s careful, _careful_ touching from behind, just fingertips against Tim’s, tracking his way up the bound arms, lightly tripping each horizontal set up to the elbow, “but you aren’t even going to try for it. Instead, you’re going to give me the power to direct you, to _guide_ you, to help you learn all the ways _you_ like to submit.”

The smallest step to the side, and the line of his thigh against Tim’s hip along with the soft bite of the rope, of being _held_ , of being forced _still_ makes a shudder run up his spine, makes his eyes fall half-mast, and the amount of _crazy_ going on in his brain pan at any given moment, starts to _ease_.

“It’s what every Dom should cherish, sweetheart, how sweet their Sub is when they submit _willingly_. Just like you are right now,” and there it is again, the way Dick makes him look _up_ , meet those eyes, sees how much Dick _likes_ this, making him…

( _Give in_.)

The Dom leans down and nuzzles their noses together affectionately.

“This?” And Dick pulls at a knot, tightening several sections around his upper body, making his eyes flutter. “Isn’t about a Dom taking something from a Sub, Timmy. This is about the Dom taking pleasure from his Sub’s _gift_ of control and trust. This is about the Sub finding pleasure in giving those things over, putting himself in his Dom’s hands. Do you understand, sweetheart?”

It’s hard to answer, hard to do anything but let himself relax in the tightened rope, to blink sluggishly up at the straps and ropes dangling from the pulley systems installed in Dick’s ceiling.

“Tim.”

“I’m not... _sure_ , Sir,” is more slurry than a few minutes ago, “I...I can’t...it’s _hard_.”

Gently, Dick wraps his hand around the back of Tim’s neck, slides his hand into that too-long hair and tightens down enough to control, not to cause pain, just direct Tim’s gaze where he wants it, uses the hold to ground the Sub long enough to hear him out, to keep him from being afraid of what he honestly _needed_.

“I know it’s hard, Tim. You’re a vigilante, a leader. You’ve trained yourself to think of submission as a terrible thing because in the world of capes and cowls, we can’t submit or the bad guys win. But when you’re here, with me, or with another Dom that cares about you, it’s okay to be unsure, it’s okay to need to explore yourself, it’s _okay_ to give up control.”

And just like some flickering impulse in his brain suddenly made a crazy amount of _sense_ , Tim slumps in his ropes, blinking up into Dick blue blue eyes, and realizes the Dom is–

( _his_ )

–right.

“Y-Yellow,” is hoarse and strained and wet-sounding because _fuck_ he’s going to start crying, isn’t he?

Dick pauses, takes a step to put them closer, and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck. “Tell me what you need, Baby. Do you want me to untie you?”

“N-No, please don’t,” because the thought is almost suffocating. If Sir unties him now, he’s going to have to be the vigilante, the CEO, the IT guy, and too many other things his brain can’t handle right now.

“It’s all right, Tim. You look so pretty like this, such a good boy in my ropes.” Instead, Dick just holds him close, wraps his arms around Tim’s shaking shoulders, slides a hand up the back of his neck, presses a gentle kiss in too-long hair. He idly toys with the coils around Tim’s elbows, hand making a gentle path down his bound forearms.

Until he comes to the pressure points he wants, the spot between Tim’s forefinger and thumb.

“Thank-you, Sir,” he chokes out, face in Dick’s shoulder, breathing deeply. The abrupt pain in his hand is there and gone in an instant, his thoughts getting thick and syrupy again while he lies against Dick’s body.

“You’re welcome, Timmy. That’s better, isn’t it? Because you know I’m going to take care of you.” Dick moves back to his wrist, wrapping his fingers around them both, holding him effortlessly below the ropes. “And you are going to relax and stand still for me while I blindfold you, right sweetheart?”

The pressure point Dick triggered did the job, giving the Sub a quick jolt of chemicals to the brain, pulling him away from the Drop. It’s just one of the tricks a good Dom should know, one of the subtle, less invasive ways of keeping a Sub from dropping due chemical imbalances. And Dick’s come close to outing himself as a Dom while in the mask ( _more than once_ ), using tactics like this to ease a Sub bottoming out with stress and fear.

He’s never been more relieved he knows how to take care of a Submissive than the moment Tim’s eyes go hazy, and the muffled, “yes, Sir. I won’t-I won’t move.” Is the validation he needs to know Tim’s still with him and it’s safe to continue.

Another kiss to the top of his head and Tim makes his spine straighten up, makes himself lean back and bare his neck, makes himself be vulnerable like this.

( _He won’t hurt me._ )

The silk slides across his eyes before he can afraid, the darkness falling over to soothe his frayed nerves ( _because he’s a Bat, and if anything, they’re all more at home in the night than the day)._

“Perfect. I’m going to put something in your hand, and I want you to hold on to it for me.” Fingers against his palm, the soft jingle in his fingers.

“I’m going to gag you, Tim, so if you need to call Yellow, I want you to shake that bell. If you need to call Red, then I want you to drop it.”

Tim swallows, his knees knocking together.

“Tell me what I want you to do,” echoes from behind him, getting slightly faint as Dick moves around him.

“I-If I need to say Yellow...I’m going to shake it. If I need it to stop, I...I’ll drop it.”

“That’s right. Good job, baby,” Dick is beside him again, thumbing the ropes around his wrist, making sure Tim can track him, won’t jump at his touch. “And you _will_ if you need to. Do you understand me?”

The touch moves up again, the hand briefly palming the back of his neck before the thumb is running over his jaw, down to his mouth.

“I understand, Sir,” because he _knows_ what coming. When the pad of the thumb runs over his bottom lip, fingers on his neck tighten, and without being told–

–his mouth drops open.

“Such a good boy,” is low and deep and full of something his brain can’t process right then. Whatever is there makes him want to drop to his knees, stay wide open, let Dick use his mouth however he _wants_ to and…

Rubber against his tongue, muffling the abrupt moan he can’t stifle in time. The buckle fastens at the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath through his nose because it’s somehow soothing like this.

He can’t give orders, can’t be Red Robin or Tim Drake CEO if he can’t see, can’t speak, can’t move. He can just be here like this until Dick tells him what to do next, and the very thought makes him slump a little in his ropes, makes it easier to fall further down, to be fuzzy when Dick leans in to talk against his ear.

“You’re _gorgeous_ like this, baby,” and Dick’s voice is genuinely pleased with him, a soft hum in his words. “I’m going to tie the ropes from my ceiling to the knots at your sides. I want you to stand straight up and hold still.”

His spine immediately straightens again, following orders.

From his right, soft music starts up. Something soothing and low while Dick works. He’s treated to the soft _saahhs_ of rope uncoiling, of Dick humming jovially while he works. The floor under his bare feet is plush enough to sink his toes in, the ropes tight enough that he can only flex his shoulders a little.

The loops Dick made at his sides are tugged, each one as he works his way up Tim’s body, securing a rope from the complicated pulley system overhead in the loops, making sure to keep touching the ropes over his body before touching skin, trying to be so _careful_ while making sure Tim knows he’s there.

He doesn’t comment on the way the Sub moves automatically into each touch, showing how starved he is, how much he _needs_.

And Dick is going to give it all to him, right after they get him far enough down to hit subspace.

He feels the trembling start to slacken off, Tim's chest easing in long, slow breaths, and kneels down to grip the back of Tim's calves, rope and skin. He kneads for a second, giving Tim time to fall into the _calm_ and quiet. It takes so much _effort_ to keep himself from leaning in, mouthing at the tempting indent right at the edge of those cute little briefs–

( _Dammit, Dick. **Focus**._)

He moves up the back of the ( _his_ ) Sub's thighs, easing the tension, slowly drifting Tim close enough to brace against his chest, to lean on him, to let Dick ground him while the lack of stimulus eases him into just the right headspace. The ropes he needs from the pulleys on his ceiling are looped tight, ready for suspension. The small remote in Dick's pocket has two buttons, but not just _yet_. Tim's almost there, almost ready, Dick can _feel_ it, the Dom in him attuned to all the right _signs_.

"That's _better_ , isn't it sweetheart? Nice and tight. You look so pretty in my ropes," his hands want to slide over that pert ass, wants that _possession._ He keeps himself in check, slides his fingers along the rope crossing Tim's mid-back instead, works his fingers under the center knots. He leans down just a little, just enough for his breath along the jugular makes a shudder run up

Tim’s soft noise, muffled through his gag is _glorious_.

"Such a good boy, letting me touch you, letting me give you what you need. It’s so _hard_ to stop sometimes, isn’t it? When you’re going from one crisis to another, breaking yourself to get ahead of the next catastrophe? You can’t let it rest, not even long enough to sleep. It’s the life we lead, sweetheart,” and since he’s trying to be so calm and careful, _gentle_ , while still touching as much as he can, give Tim the contact he secretly _craves_ , Dick can lean in and nuzzle at the skin between the ropes, wrap as much of himself around Tim as he _can_.

He knows he’s doing the right thing by how Tim’s shoulders curve in against him, seeking more of his touch.

( _After this, they are **talking** about contracts, as in Robin the Third is going to make one. It’s like navigating a bad guy hideout with no intel, when any single, simple thing could set off a potentially fatal trap. He’s been lucky so far. Very, _very _lucky he’s been able to keep Tim from a drop up to this point._ )

“And now you know I’m _here_ for you.” He doesn’t need to see Tim’s face, his eyes, to know the reaction to those words; he can feel muscles trying to tighten under the ropes. “Tim, _Timmy_ , when you’re head gets too full, when you need it to all _stop_ , you can always, _always_ come to me. I can help you.”  

Dick snuffles against Tim’s neck and takes in a _breath_ , the Dom riding the edges of his tone, not enough to be an order, just enough to be _serious_ , to make Tim _pay attention_.

“You don’t have to do this alone, or with someone that could hurt you. Anytime you need to stop, you’re going to call me. No matter when or where you are, you _will_ let me help you.”

There’s a soft noise, a whine trapped behind the gag, and Tim tries to move the only thing he really can, to turn his face away, but Dick palms his cheek, thumb moving just above the gag’s strap.

“Don’t turn away. You don’t ever need to turn away. _God_ , look how precious you are like this. How could I ever say no? You’re so _gorgeous_ for me, Sweetheart. I can’t stop looking at you.”

He sees Tim’s chin bob lower, his shoulders easing into the hold of the ropes, his back still straight, but he’s giving in so _beautifully_.

It’s such a hard fight for him, Dick already knows, and he’s trying so damn _hard_ to be good.

“ _This_ is what I need from you, Tim. This is what I need from any of my Subs, what the Dom in me _craves_. When you give yourself over to me, when you let me _do this_ to you, it’s all I could have ever wanted.” He gives a last nuzzle to Tim’s cheek, pressing a gentle kiss above the strap of the gag. He has to make himself take a step back, or else he’d stay right there and do nothing but nuzzle and hold and enjoy the tough-as-nails vigilante in his ropes, in his control.

He has to get back into the scene, has to put away his own _wants_ (for the moment). “But the real power between us should always, _always_ be in your hands, Timmy. The bell you’re holding, the safe words I want to say, are all ways you can stop me. That’s how it _should_ be. And now, you’re going to use that power.”

Dick takes a step back, pulls one of the ropes wound around the pulley system. The length tied to the loop at the back of Tim’s shoulders gets tight, shows the Submissive exactly what he’s going to be in for.

“If you want to continue, shake the bell. If you want to stop, drop it."

It takes control and willpower to keep Dick from reaching out when Tim obviously hesitates, his chest rising and falling just a little faster, and the internal struggle he’s having with himself so blatantly _obvious_.

The fight to give in and do what Dick wants, the fight to get himself out of these ropes, the fight to keep running away from himself.

Dick’s heart picks up as he waits.

And after a few intense minutes, Dick’s teeth biting down on his lower lip while his inner Dom demands he help Tim make the right choice, demands he help the Submissive.

( _Someday he’s going to be able to, some day when Tim trusts his enough, he’ll be able to take control, give him the direction he so desperately_ needs _._ )

When Tim’s jaw finally relaxes around the gag, the tense muscles in his forearms ease, the wrinkles in his forehead smooth out, the little _ching-ching_ is literally music to Dick’s ears.

“What could I have ever done to deserve such a good Sub like you, Timmy?” And Dick finally takes the remote out of his pocket, can step back against the ( _his dammit, Tim is **his**_ ) Sub to steady him with a free hand at the small of his back. “I love you like this. I love that I can take care of you now.”

The small huff is enough for Dick’s smile to get even wider.

“I know you’re a tough bird, sweetheart. So, I know you’re going to be fine when I press this button and the pulleys are going to lift you. You’re going to stay in suspension while I go in the kitchen and make us something to eat. I’m not going to leave the apartment.”

He presses the button before Tim can have too much time to think about it, keeps one hand on Tim’s back as the ropes attached to his pulley system start getting taunt until Tim’s upper body is lifted off the ground.

He doesn’t let Tim get too high up before stopping the lift, moves enough to pull the two ropes looped at the thighs, then the ones at the calves, and finally the ones at the ankles so the third Robin is parallel with the floor.

To keep him from knowing how high up he is, Dick stays back a few steps, only reaches out to cup his knee and rub tenderly. From the miniscule movements around the gag and blindfold, he can guess Tim’s eyes are fluttering, as his whole body goes completely _lax_ , letting himself be cradled by the ropes.

“Beautiful, Timmy,” is softly awed, “I’m going to come back in and check on you after I start something tasty for us to share. Be good for me and stay just like this.”

When Dick leans in, presses his mouth to the ball gag, Tim’s whole body relaxes, and something in his brain finally _disconnects_. He doesn’t hear the sounds of Dick’s retreating footsteps as he sinks under the soft blanket of Subspace for the first time in _years_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I have a loose plan for how things will probably go from here. I'll probably have a few longer things and most likely have one-shots purely based on BDSM practices. I have a bit of a one-shot after this that will probably go pretty far in making the leap ;)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it babes. Drop me a line.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading! I love comments and such~


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